Life with Cats

So, I've gotten into the habit of letting my cats go outside.

I realize there is some inherent risk to letting them go out (cars, dogs . . . ), but they look so happy and (so far) always come back when I call them.

Last night, let's call her, "Not-So-Sweet" Pea scared the shit out of me.

See, when she first came into my life she was an outside cat. Well, she was actually an indoor cat that was forced to become an outdoor cat. She was declawed and tossed out by former neighbors. By all appearances, it had been months since she'd seen a vet or been fed a good meal. Following many tears (on my part) and Not-So-Sweet Pea throwing herself at J's feet, he decided we could keep her.

She was an easy cat. Mostly, I think she was just happy to know where her next meal was coming from and thankful for the central air and heat that we provided her. So, we could leave the door wide open and she'd stick her head out, look left and right and just walk back in the house. She showed no interest in going outside.

But, since we've been letting Jack and Sasha out, Sweet realized that we weren't kicking her out, but letting her come back in when she was ready.

Lately, she's been asking to go out at sundown and will usually find her way back to our front porch by the time we go to bed.

Last night, S went outside to round them up and one by one they returned with Sweet bringing up the rear. I was in bed at the time and Sweet jumped up to the foot of the bed and just as I was reaching out to scratch her head I recoiled in horror.

Blood.

All over her face and her front left paw.

I leapt off the bed and went to see S on the front porch:

Me, "Why is Sweet covered in blood?"

S, "What?!?"

We both ran into the house to find her and as I scooped her up in my arms S did a quick assessment of her limbs and face. She let him touch her and did nothing other than purr in my arms.

We took her over to the sink and I held her while S lathered her paw with kittie soap and rinsed off her face.

Our only conclusion: she killed something.

This wasn't the first time, but it was the first time that I was witness to the gory aftermath. Some months ago, she took down a mockingbird. Our roommate walked out to check our mail only to find the grisly remains and a proud Sweet prancing and preening around her "contribution" to the house.

He praised her and once she was satisfied there was an air of "please see that it is taken care of" haughtiness in the lift of her tail as she walked in the house.

Which, is what is confusing about last night. Usually, cats bring their catch home. We didn't receive any such gift, so we are going with one of two options:

1. She brought it in the house and we have yet to find it.

or

2. She didn't quite finish it off last night.

Either way, it's not a pretty thought.